


A Sultana in a Salad.

by springburn



Series: The Thick of It mini-fics [48]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Adolescence, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Love, angst/feels, long term happy marriage, malcolm is still a silver fox, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 15:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: Malcolm's relationship with his teenage daughter is becoming rocky.





	A Sultana in a Salad.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in response to a prompt given to me a long while ago by @mywhaticallablog 
> 
> "Malcolm's reaction to Grace bringing home her first boyfriend please" 
> 
> .......it's taken me ages to get around to it, so apologies for that. 
> 
> Malcolm is a dad with three teenage children. The youngest, his daughter, is sixteen.  
> Her dad is in his late sixties. But.....he's Malcolm....trust me, he's still hot!! 
> 
> Grace is beginning to feel her feet. She isn't a child anymore and Malcolm is having problems dealing with it.  
> The two are both made from the same stuff.....volatile. They've always been close, always had a strong bond, but Malcolm is devastated when that is threatened. 
> 
>  
> 
> This story takes place roughly two years before "The Old Fucker" which is in this series, and forms part of the 'Malcolm with kids' au. 
> 
> The title is taken from something Terri says to Malcolm.....
> 
> "You're wrong Malcolm....you're like a sultana in a salad....."

A SULTANA IN A SALAD. 

Malcolm Tucker tore into his kitchen in a flurry, to find his wife seated wearily at the counter with a cup of tea at her elbow. 

"Where is she?" He demanded. Throwing down his bunch of keys and looking wildly about him as if he expected Grace to jump out from a cupboard....

 

That morning he'd gone into town for meetings with his publisher, followed by a literary fundraiser. Ensconced in the raffle and the speeches when the distraught text came through from his beloved daughter. 

"Dad....I'm outside the cinema, please can you come and get me? I've lost my bus ticket and I've been dumped. I bloody hate boys....."

Grace. 

His little girl. His princess. 

Sixteen now and his little girl no longer. 

A young woman. 

Thrown into an instant panic. Imagining all kinds of scenarios, none of them good.  
Unable to get away, he'd been forced to excuse himself, threading his way through the tables, to frantically message Sam from outside in the foyer and leave the mopping up to her. 

Rushing home as soon as the evenings business concluded....

 

"What the fuck happened? Is she okay?" His voice was urgent. Sharp. Eyes ferocious yet filled with concern.

Laying a hand gently on his sleeve, Sam turned and smiled gently. 

"Calm Malcolm. She's just upset.....boy trouble....." she replied. "She's shut herself upstairs in her room......"

"Right....."

Taking the stairs two at a time Malcolm arrived breathless and frazzled at the firmly closed door of his daughter's room. 

Knocking gently with one knuckle. 

"Grace love? It's Dad. Can I come in?"

A strangled grunt to the affirmative made him gingerly swing it open and peer inside. 

The domain of the teenage girl. 

Squinting in the muted half light, curtains permanently drawn across. Blotting out the sunshine during the day.  
Eyes scanning the dim interior, slowly becoming accustomed to the heavy gloom. 

Around the room in every corner, her treasures. The things that made it her own private space. Her sanctum sanctorum. 

Walls dotted with various posters......not boy bands or hunky tv stars stripped to the waist, but art works of all kinds.  
Moody Rothko's stuck with blu-tack hung side by side with Mondrian, Picasso's Guernica and the exuberant spatters of Jackson Pollock. Delicately painted maidens with long tresses by Millais and the Pre-Raphaelites. A dour self portrait of the elderly Rembrandt gazed down, surveying the torpid scene. 

These works were interspersed with prints of the heavens. Saturn with its rings. The Crab Nebula. Andromeda Galaxy.  
Gothic horror film illustrations and flyers from various avant garde theatre productions.

Every inch of available flat surface was crammed with books, papers, magazines and the detritus of GCSE revision.  
Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. A book of equations. Cromwell and the Interregnum.  
Lap top open, it's screensaver from Bowie's Blackstar.  
On top of all, a dried up dirty plate and cup from the evening before. 

Shelves filled with mementos. 

Seashells, baubles and coloured beads, little Pop figures, photos in frames, home made models and long unplayed with toys. Reminders of the little girl she no longer was. These juxtaposed with her collection of beloved books, CD's and DVD's.  
Strings of fairy lights dangled from the bedstead and the picture frames.  
Clothes flung haphazardly here and there just where she'd stepped out of them, abandoned to their fate.  
A lava lamp glooped and flobbered like a captured amoeba on the bedside table, casting an eerie green glow on the inert occupant.

No pink fluffy kittens here! 

There she lay on the bed, curled up. Hugging her knees. Facing the wall.  
Brown Bear, recently mended and restuffed, who, being a much loved possession since her earliest childhood, was now almost completely devoid of fur, clutched tight to her body.  
A sniff and a jerk from time to time as she fought for control. 

"Hey? Lass.....tell yer old Dad what happened....." 

Crossing to the divan Malcolm perched himself on the edge of the mattress, reaching a hand to touch the shaking shoulder. 

"Come on love.....this is me here.....nothing we can't sort out....." 

She turned over in a surge. Loosing a gale of pent emotion. Flinging her pale arms around his neck, almost knocking him off balance.  
Face a contorted mess. 

"Oh _Dad_!" She sobbed, clinging there. Head against his chest. 

Malcolm did what he'd done so many times throughout her life. Held her close. Nose buried in her cloud of blonde curls. 

"Whisht now......it's alright....I'm here.....let it out....." whispering softly.  
One hand rubbing her back tenderly. 

In his mind he was briefly transported back in time. 

His little girl. How often had she come to him like this? 

Always to him. 

Her beloved Dad......

......who always smelled like.....well.....like her Dad. Comforting.  
Always knew what to say. Never failed to make her feel better. Always there, no matter what. 

Jamie, the first born, now away from home on an exchange programme in the US, his pride and joy, had always been close, but not like this.  
Robbie, recently despatched to a shared flat in Shoreditch, studying at RADA, was Sam's boy through and through, had been right from the start. The most like her of the three and ever gravitating naturally towards his mother. 

But Grace...... _his_ Grace......well, they had a bond like no other. 

Fiercely intelligent. Quick and smart. Only a two year gap with her younger brother and three with the elder, yet she often left them both far behind.  
Malcolm wasn't sure where it sprang from, if it was a father/daughter thing or if it was just some kind of special simpatico, but whatever it was it had always been there.  
That disarming honesty she possessed. So many occasions she'd seemed to know what he was thinking, and he her.  
Especially when she was very young. 

An astonishingly bright child. 

Always so sure of what she wanted, knew where she was going. Not afraid to be different or to stand out in the crowd. Thinking on her feet, just like her father. Astute and wise beyond her years. 

Then, suddenly, puberty happened and she seemed to lose her way. 

Hormones flooded in. 

To her father's consternation she blossomed almost overnight from a small, slightly rounded carefree kid to a fulsome, willowy young woman, loaded with angst. Shooting upwards and outwards at a rate of knots.  
Arms and legs suddenly too long for her. Making her seem clumsy and less confident. 

Knee socks and sandals gave way to black tights and high heels. 

Her abundance of beautiful yellow corkscrews rigorously tamed and straightened to within an inch of their lives with heated tongs.  
Flawless, pale, Scottish skin, inherited from him, now sported foundation, dark eyeshadow, mascara and kohl eye pencil. 

Boys. 

Looming on the horizon. 

Every protective father's worst nightmare. 

Brash and impossibly horny. Gaunt, cocky youths , who were clearly all out to defile his precious girl! 

Malcolm had found it hard to adapt to the change in her. Even though he knew it was inevitable. 

Growing up. 

Finding that sometimes life smacked you in the face. 

 

Gradually his shirt soaked through, baptised by her salty tears. 

"Come on sweetheart, what boy could be worth this much sorrow? Eh?" 

Peeling herself from him, she sat back on her heels, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Malcolm gallantly fished into a pocket and retrieved a hanky. 

Accepting the offer. Blowing her nose trumpetingly and snottily, before trying to hand it back. 

"Keep it!" Her parent frowned with distaste. 

"So come on....out with it! What's this lowlife scum done to my gorgeous girl....hmmm?"

"It's that Matthew....Matt......Robertson. The one I told you about a while ago....." the handkerchief came in for another volley of mucous. 

"Go on......"

"Well, we've been hanging about together quite a bit. He seemed really nice, I thought he liked me..." 

The eyes that lifted from her wringing hands were almost identical in colour to Malcolm's as she looked despairingly into them. 

"...... then he kept getting a bit....you know.....pushy....." 

Malcolm Tucker's eyebrows raised first independently, then together, almost disappearing into his hairline. 

"......at first I kinda made a joke or excuses, to put him off, but then in the cinema he was just trying to grope me in the dark. When I told him to rack off he got really annoyed. So I told him I was going home." 

Tears renewed themselves and spilt afresh, but her father remained silent. 

"I yelled at him when we got outside, had a right go......and then he just lost it. _Oh Dad_....." 

She paused, sniffing again. The big reveal was coming. Malcolm mentally braced himself. 

"He told me he'd only gone out with me because he'd got a bet on with his mates that he could get me in the sack. They all said I was a freak or a lesbian because I hadn't done it yet. He said I was frigid....a goody two shoes and a weirdo. He called me a frozen ice bitch, then pissed off and left me standing there, he had my bus ticket and I didn't have enough money to get home."

Gathering her into his embrace once more, Malcolm held the distraught girl close to his chest. 

"Oh my darling lass." He whispered, stroking her hair, comforting. 

"Shall I go round there? Pull him out by his bollocks? Flay his skin from his body and use it as a chamois leather to clean the car with? Where does the little cunt live? Tell me and I'll march in there and twist his fucking knob off." 

In spite of her anguish his daughter began to giggle. An explosion punctuating her sobs. 

Laughter and tears combined. 

"Oh papa....you're terrible! Much as I'd like you to do just that....you'd get yourself arrested...." 

"Ha! Won't be the first time." 

Looking into the kindest eyes in the known universe. Never fierce to her, always soft and tender. 

Right now they were concerned, a certain dewiness about them, which surprised her. 

Holding her firmly by the shoulders, she was held at arms length, the tops of her arms cupped by his large hands. 

"Let's be serious for a minute here Grace. I'm not liking what I'm hearing here. It's not acceptable for any man/boy to grope you. Touching you without your permission is completely out of order.  
So is putting pressure on you to do something that you're not comfortable with......" 

"......I know _that_ Dad! He was being a total jerk. All his crowd are like that. It's funny because you are vilified for not agreeing to have sex with them.....but if you're one of the ones who does then you're branded as a slag! Us girls just can't win." 

"More to the point love.....he scared you. Trying to make you do what he wanted. That's not acceptable behaviour.  
Your body is yours. You're not a piece of meat. Or some kind of toy. You're a young woman....a beautiful one at that. And no one has the right to take that from you. No one.  
I don't care how fucking randy he's feeling, or whether he's being egged on by his mates....he's got to learn some respect. Some restraint. Otherwise he's gonna land himself in big trouble." 

"I thought he was so cool.....turns out he's just like all the rest......an idiot....I guess I encouraged him......." Grace hung her head, as if in shame. 

"Love....listen to me....you've done nothing wrong! No means no, and men need to damn well recognise that.  
Sadly, with boys, their dicks grow up before the rest of them. It's all they fucking think about!  
Trust me....I was young once! But just as a man's body is his own, so is a woman's. There's no distinction.  
It's not okay to grope someone like that, it just fucking isn't. It makes me angry to think you're sitting here blaming yourself. Those guys are cunts....the lot of 'em....and they are most certainly not worth your tears." 

"I feel like an idiot....." she leaned into him again. 

"Sadly, you have to be aware of these types. Protect yourself by steering clear of these situations. You shouldn't have to....it should be the guy who is conscious of your feelings enough to make you feel safe. But that's not always the way it works. Years of fucking male ignorance is gonna take a while to overturn.  
Blokes are dicks! Not all....but a lot are.  
When you're ready to do stuff with a guy, then you'll know. You'll feel comfortable, and not threatened.  
There's no fucking time limit on getting laid Grace! It's not a bloody competition to see who can pop their cherry first. And running a book on it? What sort of cunts does that make them?  
The very worst. I'd quite like to have a word with all of them!" 

"You always seem to know what to say Dad. No bullshit. I love you so much." 

Snuggling herself into the warm and trusted embrace, she let out a long sigh, allowing her shoulders to drop. 

"And I love you sweetheart. Now, come on.....let's go down and have a cuppa.....nothing cures being dumped by a numpty like a nice a cup of tea." 

oOo

Waking early, laying on his back staring up at the ceiling. Sam still sleeping blissfully beside him. 

Malcolm was in contemplative mood.....

 

In his late sixties. Under normal circumstances he'd be retired by now. Yet somehow he couldn't entertain it. Even though he was financially secure and no longer needed to work. He enjoyed writing.  
Life was good. 

The woman laying at his side was his soulmate. He still loved her more than life itself. As a couple they'd grown and bound themselves together more and more securely. Seldom apart. Especially now their household was so depleted. 

He missed his boys. 

More than he could possibly say. 

Coming in and out of the house, dirty football kit, makeshift meals sitting around the table together. Music blaring from their rooms. Tall gangly boys with hair of varying lengths and colours calling round, voices once high pitched, now deep and gruff like grizzly bears. Clumping up and down stairs, on their phones, or raiding the fridge whilst he and Sam were out. 

All of it. 

In comparison Grace was fairly quiet. 

Over the previous few weeks she barely seemed to leave the house. 

Studying. Revising conscientiously. 

Her mien subdued and sullen. 

 

.......Yawning and stretching, Malcolm hauled himself out of bed.

"You making tea?" Asked a sleepy voice. 

"Aye.....want one?" 

His wife turned over and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

"Please. I'm parched." 

Leaning over he nuzzled her face until she acquiesced to a morning kiss. 

"Mmmm. Morning sweetie." 

Her hand trailed through his unruly curls of hair, whiter now but still thick and lustrous. 

A sigh coming from him as he sank into her warmth, turning it tender, his sharp nose pressed into her cheek. 

"Malc?" She whispered, pulling back slightly. "Tea first.....smooches after.....yeah?" 

Drawing away, he gave a wry smile. 

"You never fucking used to say that Darl!" 

Releasing her from his embrace, levering himself up, he gave her a ringside view of his bare backside before reaching for and tying on his dressing gown.  
Turning once more to see her smirking. 

"Yep!" She giggled. "Still got it Tucker!"

oOo

_Later.....downstairs....._

"Has she been out at all in the last two days?" He enquired of Sam. "She'll be getting Rickets or malnutrition or something."

"She's alright Malc. Leave her be. This thing with that Matt boy has knocked the stuffing out of her. But she'll bounce back. Don't you worry. Jamie was just the same at her age. You forget. And the pressure on these kids with these bloody exams is tremendous. She so wants to do well." 

"Yeah.....but not at the expense of her health or her sanity." Her husband replied doubtfully, with a frown. "Has she had breakfast?" 

"Of course she has! I took her porridge, toast and a banana ages ago." 

Flicking on the kettle he made tea, planted two Jaffa cakes on the saucer and made his way upstairs. 

"Knock, knock!" He called through the door. "Room service!" 

"Come in, Dad." 

Swivelling round in her chair as he entered, she smiled warmly at the sight of him. The desk in front of her littered with notes and open text books. 

"Oh, papa, you're a star!"

Pushing aside the strewn contents of her handbag, Malcolm sat down on the bed. 

"So how's the studying going? You need to have some time off now and again love.....give those brain cells a rest, eh?"

Her initial reply was an eye roll, as she sank her teeth into the chocolatey, orangey goodness. 

"I'm going out tonight as it happens....with Jess and a few of the girls...." 

"Good....that's good. Well, make sure you have enough cash for a cab home....don't get in it on your own, and if in doubt, ring me and I'll come and fetch you." 

Another exasperated eye roll. 

"I'm staying over at Jess's. We'll be fine Dad, stop worrying." 

Malcolm shrugged. 

"Aye, well, that's a Dad's job....to worry." 

His eyes scanned the clutter on the bed beside him. The contents of her bag seemingly spewed out in an unruly mess, as she'd hunted for something. Coming to rest on an ornately embossed card. 

Picking it up, he turned it over in his hands.

"What's this?" 

His daughter's face clouded momentarily, but she quickly rallied, feigning nonchalance.

"Oh, it's just an invite to the end of year school prom." 

"When were you gonna mention it?" 

"It's no big deal. I'm not going anyway." 

"Not going? Why?" 

"Because I've got no one to go with. I'm not going to put myself through being an even worse laughing stock than I already am. Who needs that? Not me!" 

Her father's heart sank. Did she really feel so low? So worthless and unattractive? So bad that she didn't feel she could say anything? Not even to him? 

"But all your friends will be there...." He offered, rather lamely. 

"Exactly! And each with a date on their arm! It's like a competition Dad....a fashion show. Who's the coolest, the best dressed, the most desirable. Bollocks to it....I can't be arsed to make a fool of myself for their entertainment." 

Malcolm Tucker was poleaxed. 

His beautiful girl. 

Reduced to a painfully self conscious, self loathing, alleged freak.......he was momentarily speechless. 

"Surely you don't have to go there on the arm of a some fella.....surely you can arrive in your own right Grace? Looking stunning.....as you always do......you don't need any guy to compliment you.....you stand alone as you are."

"You say that because you're my Dad. But you don't understand, papa, it's a big thing these days. It's all about prestige, kudos, point scoring......and I'm not into it." 

"Well its a while away yet.....you've got time to think about it. I don't see why you should miss out on a lovely evening with all your friends.....I'm sure Jess'll be there."

"Yeah, she's going with Ryan. He's ok, and they've asked me to go with them....but I said no." 

"Grace. You _do_ know you can always talk to me right? Always come to me....I'll always listen. If you've got stuff bothering you....or anything really. Like you always did." 

"It's fine Dad. I'm not a little kid any more, and anyway there's nothing to tell. Now....I really need to get on with this Ted Hughes poetry. I'm behind as it is." 

oOo

It was a very subdued Malcolm who returned to the kitchen, where his wife was busy tidying the breakfast things. 

Plonking himself down at the table he stared moodily into the middle distance. 

Arms were threaded around his neck and shoulders, little kisses placed below his right ear. Malcolm sighed, tilting his head for more. 

"What's wrong Malc? You look like you've the world's worries on your shoulders." 

"You've not heard either then?" 

"About what?" Sliding round in front of her husband, she pulled herself into his lap. His arms holding her close around her waist. 

"The school prom. Grace doesn't want to go, because she doesn't have a date." 

Sam's face creased in dismay. 

"She never said a word." 

"Not to me either. What's changed Sam? She always confided in me, told me everything. Nowadays she's so secretive, I barely know what's going on in her head.....and I always did.....it's like I'm losing her.....my lovely girl..... _our_ lovely girl." 

"She's a normal teenager Malcolm. Lots of hormones. Lots of feelings she's trying to make sense of. She thinks she's meant to be a grown up but sometimes she doesn't feel like that. Torn between adulthood and childhood. She's got so many emotions, so much pressure, and it's difficult not to lose herself in amongst it all. But you're still her Dad, and she loves you." 

"But she's shut up there. In her own world. Earphones clamped on her head. Or she's on her phone, or Facebook. She hardly seems to say two words......we were always so close. Now she shuts me out.  
Christ, I don't want to know all her fucking business....but we hardly seem to communicate at all. All I am now is just a silly old fart who worries too much." 

"Oh Malc!" Her lips sought his, latching on and lingering there. Separating, she cupped his dear face and smiled. "You're never that. Not to her. She hasn't changed really, not at heart. But she's finding her feet. Next year it'll be sixth form.....then maybe uni.....going out into the big wide world. Finding out how complicated relationships can be, what a mine field it all is. Trying to fit in, and yet retain her integrity. It's a colossal change for a young girl. But she'll steer a path through it, come out the other side. Give her all your love, just like you always have. Be there for her, even if she pushes you away.  
She'll be glad of it in the end. Trust me. I was a young girl too once.....remember?" 

"She just seems so vulnerable at the moment. Old and yet very young. I'm scared for her, that's all." 

"I know you are darling." 

"And I can't understand why none of these stupid fucking boys fancy her? She's so fucking beautiful!" 

"They probably do. But....Malc....it's tough for adolescent boys too.....all that raging testosterone, all that angst. They're not all full of cocky attitude you know, some are painfully shy and unsure of themselves. Too scared of rejection. The humiliation, to ask someone out and be rebuffed.  
You must remember puberty......it's a bloody hurricane. A shitstorm of Biblical proportions!" 

Malcolm puffed resignedly. 

"I guess.......hey Sam.......?" 

"What?" 

"Speaking of testosterone........" 

He gave his best and most hopeful smile. 

oOo

_A couple of days later......_

Looking into the eyes of his middle child was like looking into those of the boy's mother. 

Warm brown. Open and friendly. 

Robbie was smiling at his father over the top of his pint glass. 

"So come on then Pater......out with it.....what's occurring....?" He asked jovially. 

The pub around them seethed with a happy hum of voices. 

A young lass in a green apron bought them two plates of ham, egg and chips. 

".....I _know_ you can't have ventured into the iniquitous den of the East End purely to see me and buy me lunch!"

"Am I that fucking transparent?" Malcolm dipped a chip into his pool of tomato ketchup, and crunched on it gloomily. 

The young man smiled with amused indulgence, and it was Sam's smile. 

"Dad, it doesn't matter! Really. I knew you'd been down in the dumps. I do text Mum now and again to let her know I'm still in the land of the living!"

"Did you get the washing machine fixed in the flat..... your Mum says if not you can bring your washing home, she'll do it." 

"I'm eighteen Dad.....not eight! I took it to the launderette.....anyway, the landlord installed a new one the day before yesterday, so I'm good to go. Now, come on, tell me what's going on." 

Still Malcolm hedged. 

"Heard from your brother lately?" 

"The Great Tucker Prodigy you mean.....?" 

Malcolm gave a frown. 

".......every day pretty much. He's having far too good a time over there. You?"

"We Skyped last weekend.....he looks older than 19 somehow......he's changed his hair too. I barely recognised him....oh, and he's joined a campus football team......he even called it _'soccer'_.....there's no fucking hope for him now!"

Robbie Tucker threw back his head and laughed. 

"It's tough for you and Mum, isn't it? Us flying the nest! Mum said earlier this week that she felt redundant." 

Malcolm puffed out his cheeks, dropping his shoulders. 

"We both fucking miss you like crazy. I've never felt so old in all my life. Which brings me to Grace....." 

His son nodded knowingly. 

"Ah, now we have it. I thought as much.....what's she done now? Not gone back with that fucking Matt prick again I hope. Can't believe she even entertained him in the first place....he always was a knob end. Must have been flattered I suppose.....Christ knows why.....apparently he's good looking. Can't see it myself." 

"No. I think he's history. He's lucky he's still in possession of his genitalia." 

Another explosion of laughter around a mouthful of egg. 

"Dad! You'll never change! So what's up with little sis then? She's not mentioned anything to me in her texts." 

"You text?" 

"Of course we do Dad! She's my sister! Me and Jamie text her almost every day...."

Raw emotion welled up in Malcolm's eyes. They watered before he even had time to check them. 

Robbie paused, a forkful of ham half way between plate and mouth, regarding his parent dolefully.  
Replacing it uneaten, he reached across and touched his father's sleeve. 

"Jesus, Dad.....what is it? He's not made her pregnant or something has he?" 

Malcolm gave a withering look. 

"Don't be a twat. Of course not." 

Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the whole story of the prom, Grace's lack of self confidence, her enforced bedroom hibernation, and all the rest of it.  
Robbie listened whilst continuing to hoover up his lunch like a ravenous wolf.  
At the end of it he remained silent for several seconds before taking a glug from his lager and setting it back down on its beer mat. 

"I can see why you're concerned." He responded after some consideration. "I don't get it though. Loads of blokes fancied Grace at school. You remember Nat?" 

Malcolm looked confused. 

"Nat Franklin. The black guy.....the one who you said looks like the lead singer of the 'Lighthouse Family'?" 

"Oh yeah! That Nat. From your year?"

"Yeah. Him. He thought she was the cats whatsits!" 

"Really? Bit young for him though isn't she? Lads don't usually go for girls in the years below them do they? Not in my experience anyway." 

"Well I don't know that there's any written rules.....but we were 17 and she was a mature 15 and Nat thought she was great, so funny and clever. He was always banging on about her. Then I tackled him and said _'do you fancy my sister?'_ and he shut up about it......but that was only one guy. There were loads of others." 

"Well, I wish some of them had the balls to tell her! She's sitting there in her fucking bedroom, all alone, thinking of taking the veil....." 

"You don't half exaggerate Dad! Listen.....what if I was able to have a quiet word with Nat.....what do you reckon?" 

Malcolm demurred. Shaking his head sceptically. 

"He's 18 though....he'd be spending an evening with a load of 16 year olds. And what if she got wind of it? Fuck me! She'd never speak to either of us again! I'm not sure it's a good idea." 

"Plenty of the girls have older boyfriends. They go for them in the hope they're a bit more mature than the dorks their own age. It's fine.....  
And Dad.....it doesn't have to be anything to do with you whatever. _I_ can talk to Nat.....truthfully.....test the waters, see where things stand......I don't want to interfere in her life any more than you do, but it seems to me she could do with a wee boost right now." 

"Aye. Well. That's true enough. Breaks me in bits seeing her like this. Feel so fucking helpless. I've always been able to make it right for her.....and now I can't." 

"Leave it with me Pop......ok?" Tapping the side of his nose. 

oOo

_Two weeks later....._

The clattering of Doc Marten booted feet which thundered down the stairs made Malcolm pause from his word processor and look up. 

Grace flashed passed his door with a tote bag on her shoulder.  
Today she was wearing ripped jeans and an _'Arctic Monkeys'_ t shirt, a scarf tied artfully around her neck with beaded strands hanging from it.  
Her face made up, hair teased into submission. 

"I'm off out.....bye Dad!" She yelled as she ran up the hallway towards the front door. 

"Woah, woah, woah!" Malcolm rose, hurrying to the door of his study. "Hold it just a cotton pickin' minute there young lady!" 

His daughter halted. Turning. Staring at her parent with defiance. 

Malcolm's eyes travelled over her as if he had laser vision. 

"What's the big hurry?" 

A shrug and a puff of annoyance. 

"I'm late." 

"Where are you off to anyway?" 

Grace took up a pose of feigned nonchalance, jutting one hip out and bending the knee. A gesture of _'nowhere in particular'_ with her hands. But didn't offer a reply. 

Her father stood his ground. One eyebrow raised. The unanswered question remained suspended between them.  
It was the young woman who caved first. 

" _Fine!_ " Her retort was explosive, irritated, annoyed at the perceived parental prying. 

Malcolm folded his arms across his chest in silence. Propping up the doorframe. 

"I'm going to meet Robbie in Shoreditch. _OKAY_?" 

"Right....."

"Going to a pub with him, his girlfriend and some of his mates....." 

Malcolm opened his mouth to respond, then checked it, momentarily nonplussed, pausing for a second to process her words. 

"Wait.....Robbie has a girlfriend?" He huffed his annoyance. "No one ever fucking tells me _anything _!"__

____

Recovering his equilibrium he carried on. 

"Okay, so tube or bus? Got enough money on you? And I know you'll hate me....but hey....you're underage, so although I've no doubt whatsoever that you'll get in....with your face all painted up an'all, but for fucks sake don't get totally ratted....please!" 

This sentence was greeted with the usual eye roll of exasperation. 

"Tube. I've got my Oyster Card, and yes, Mum gave me some money....she's totally cool with it....and....what's more..... _DAD_......she trusts me!" 

The stab went straight to Malcolm Tucker's chest. 

He diminished more completely than he'd ever done in the wake of the numerous political maelstroms he'd once weathered. The very air seemed to be sucked out of him.  
Opening his mouth to speak, nothing came out.  
His beloved daughter had just banged the first nail into his oaken coffin. 

"And for your information, I'll be with Robbie and his mate Nat, they'll take good care of me. In case you think I need a bloody chaperone.....oh and Mum said I can stay over at his place. So I'll see _YOU_ tomorrow." 

With a slam of the door, which made Malcolm's head jolt, she was gone. 

oOo

Over the following days and weeks, Grace seemed to go out of her way to avoid Malcolm. 

As he was coming in, she was going out, and vice versa. 

As the exams began in earnest, the door to her room was firmly closed to all comers. Including him. Or, to escape entirely, she would go to Jess McDonald's house to study there. 

On several occasions he tried to talk to her, but she securely shut him out. 

It broke Malcolm's heart. 

Sam did her best to reassure, giving cuddles, talking to him. 

"Let her get these exams over with Malc. It's all her focus right now. She'll be fine once they are behind her." 

Just before the half term week that followed her Physics test, which was the last one and the subject she'd worked hardest on and was most worried about, she announced she was off to Cornwall with her mates, camping. 

"When was I going to be told about this?" Malcolm asked, not without irritation. 

"I've talked to Mum, she's okay with it. As long as I'm with the others. And I will be. It's only Newquay Dad, not Outer Mongolia." 

"What about money?" 

"I've got some I've saved from my babysitting, and mum's given me some." 

"Right, so you've spoken to Mum about it then?"

"Yes. This morning."

"Who else is going?"

"Well, Jess for a start. Uncle Jamie's cool about it.....he said we'd have fun." 

"Did he now!"

"Yes Dad. He did! He's happy for us. Everyone is.....except you......" 

"Is it just girls?" 

Grace gave her most theatrical eye roll yet. 

"No."

Malcolm puffed. 

"I see." 

"Dad what is the big deal with you? Why don't you trust me? It's not gonna be a rampant sex fest. We're not going to smoke weed and get pissed all the time......we're just gonna chill out and have some fun.....remember fun?" 

"Grace, I don't have a problem with you going.......listen, for the love of Christ......I'm not the big ogre who's trying to run and ruin your life and pry into all your business. But you're my daughter, and I just need to know you're gonna be safe, and where you are in case of emergencies. There's a lot of people out there who are not very nice! I don't think it's unreasonable to ask who'll be there with you.....I'm your Dad.....you're sixteen.....cut me some slack here for fucks sake." 

The eyes that stared coldly back at him were so like his own it was frightening. 

"I'll cut you some slack when you cut me some, Dad." 

A toss of the hair, a slam of the front door and she was away down the path at a run. 

Malcolm returned to his desk in silence. 

Seething. Bubbling under with suppressed fury. 

In a sudden fit of despairing rage he swiped the table top in front of him of its entire contents, apart from his computer. 

" _SHIT_!" 

Everything scattered. Hitting the floor and rolling away. An empty coffee cup smashing into a hundred pieces. 

" _FUCK_!" 

Plonking himself down heavily into his chair, arms resting on the leather, he laid his head onto them.  
Breathing as if he'd been swimming underwater. 

It was like this that Sam found him. 

Inconsolable. 

"She won't talk to me. She won't listen, and I can't talk to her without raising her hackles. What can I do? She fucking hates me. My own daughter and she fucking hates me...." 

Sam held her distraught husband tight. 

"She doesn't hate you Malcolm. She's going through 'stuff' at the moment and she's focussing it onto you. Let her cool off. She's angry and she's confused." 

"I feel like we're strangers. She looks down at me with barely disguised contempt. A fucking decrepit old fossil." 

It was later in the afternoon when the phone rang. 

"Malc? Hi, mate. It's Jamie." 

"Oh hi there." The reedy sound of his best friends voice sent alarm bells ringing. 

"You alright?" 

"What do you want you cunt? I'm busy." 

"Malcolm, Ellie asked me to ring you, we've got Grace here.....she's saying she wants to stay here for a coupla days.....we're fine with it......but I just wanted to run it passed you.  
Mate.....has something happened? She seems upset, and she's shut upstairs with Jess and neither of them are saying much." 

"Oh, for fucks sake!" 

The utter defeat in the tone was something that, in all his years of knowing him, Jamie McDonald had never heard. Not even in the darkest days of the Goolding Enquiry. Even then there was some measure of defiance. 

Strength. 

Fight. 

Now there was nothing but capitulation. 

"We've had a disagreement. She fucking loathes the sight of me......now you're telling me she doesn't even want to come home. And it's all my fault.......fucking great!" 

A pause on the other end of the line. 

"Malc......seriously. This is just teenage angst stuff. Sure of it. She doesn't hate you. She loves you more than she loves anybody. Probably why it's you taking the flak. Do ye think I've not been through all this with our Jess?  
It's like she's in league with her mother in a conspiracy against me for a start! And our Malcolm backs them both up! Ganging up they are! The lot of 'em......and I'm left in the fucking wilderness.  
Let her stay here....get it out of her system....she'll realise soon enough who's got her back and things'll be right again. Mark my words." 

"I hope you're fucking right Pal. Because I cannae go on like this. It's doing my fucking head in." 

oOo

_Another two weeks pass.....the day of the school prom approaches......_

Malcolm and Sam were together in the relatively peaceful tranquility of their kitchen. 

It was still early. Radio Four's Today programme was playing in the background. From upstairs the distinct and powerful thrum of The Smiths, How Soon is Now filtered into the subconscious. 

Sam placed toast and a coffee in front of her husband, who grunted his thanks without looking up from the newspaper he was quietly perusing. 

"Fucking Blinky Ben has been re-elected." He remarked idly. 

Sam leaned in over his right shoulder, her eyes scanning the article. 

"Still looks like a giant penis." She retorted. 

"Mmmmm! You smell nice." Malcolm turned his head towards her, breathing in the scent. He was about to drop a kiss on the soft cheek, when he was aware they were not alone. 

Grace. 

Since returning from her successful camping trip there had been a slight glacial thawing in the Tucker household. 

At least where Malcolm was concerned. 

A somewhat wobbly Entente Cordiale. 

Mainly due to the antithesis to gunboat diplomacy on Malcolm's part, as he neither asked where she was going or who with....and on Grace's side, restrained cordiality, because Robbie had told her quiet forcefully to stop being a fucking princess and give her dad a bit of due respect. 

"Just to let you both know....." she began, looking at the pair of them as if she'd somehow caught them inflagrante and found it all vaguely nauseating. ".......Nat has asked me to go to the prom with him. So I'm going." 

Before either parent could answer this momentous statement, she turned away. 

"Anyway! Just thought you should know." 

Shooting a glance directly at her father. 

"That's great." Sam smiled, ignoring her attempt at bear baiting. "We should go dress shopping then......" 

"No need....I'm not tarting myself up for the benefit of those idiots....I'll wear something I've already got." 

Leaving Malcolm to his copy of The Guardian, Sam quickly followed her daughter as she stumped away upstairs.  
He only caught the beginning of the conversation. 

"Grace! Don't go swanning off like that. That flounce does not become you, it just makes you look like a petulant child!  
We can go into town and find you something elegant but not too over the top. You don't dress yourself up for anyone else......you dress for yourself. Looking nice is for you, not them. Now stop being such a bloody diva......" 

oOo

_The day of the Prom......_

The entire day had been filled with preparations. 

Malcolm had no idea that natural beauty needed that much working on. 

It began with Jess and Grace going into town to get their nails done. 

The two returned, conspiratorial and giggling. 

Shortly afterwards, the doorbell rang.....another friend who 'did hair'.....apparently. 

There was an awful lot of female chatter, the sound of the hair dryer like an industrial power plant....and the sharp aroma of Elnett hairspray. 

Drinks and meals were ferried upstairs at intervals by Sam. 

Malcolm shut himself in his study and tried his best to work amid all the too-ing and fro-ing. 

Around six thirty came the sound of the bell again. Listening as Sam opened the door. 

This was his moment to emerge. 

Just in time to see his wife ushering someone into the kitchen. 

"Grace will be down in a moment......cup of tea?" He heard her saying. 

Standing in the doorway he eyed the newcomer. 

Nat. 

Grace's date. 

He was tall, gangly. With the kind of look that meant he'd outgrown his strength and needed to fill out to catch up.  
Narrow shoulders.  
Dark skin. Hair cut close to his head. Will Smith style. 

At that moment he turned, seeing Malcolm his handsome face broke into a wide, friendly smile of even, white teeth. 

"Hello Mr Tucker. Nice to meet you again." Coming forwards with his hand outstretched. 

Malcolm's gaze narrowed and hardened, his jaw tight, as he took the proffered hand and shook it perfunctorily. 

"Hi. Nat is it?" He replied sourly. 

"That's right. I came here a few times when Robbie lived at home...."

Sam was behind them, bustling with tea things, remaining quiet. 

"So....you and Grace.....are you an item now or what?" 

Typical Tucker. 

Straight for the jugular. 

He was enjoying seeing this young man squirm. 

"We're friends....I hope. I've taken her out a few times. She's a lovely person, smart....great fun too......" he began, trying to remain jovial, glancing at Sam for back up. 

"And it's really nice you two have got together." She interjected. Giving her husband a withering look. 

"Aye. Well, you make sure you take good care of my lass!" Malcolm pursued. "Treat her like a young lady should be treated, and you and I will get on just fine." 

Nat smiled again. Shifting uncomfortably under the baleful stare of the father, who was almost the same height as himself, and just as lean. 

"Of course I will Mal......er Mr Tucker. No worries!" 

Shuffling awkwardly and praying for a miracle to save him from the frosty glare of this protective father. 

Thankfully it came. 

Prayers answered. Not a moment to soon. 

Cutting into the chill atmosphere came his daughter's excited voice from the landing outside her bedroom. 

"The car's here!" 

Together, the three made their way out into the hallway. Glancing up the stairs as Grace began to descend. 

Both Sam and Nat gave ooo's and ah's of appreciation. 

Malcolm however, was struck dumb. 

Slowly, his eyes scanned her as she came down, teetering on her platform heels. 

He'd never seen her looking so lovely. A vision. Seemingly floating. 

Dark midnight blue, simple but classic. Fitted full length dress, hugging her curves.  
It complimented her blonde hair, which was piled up on top of her head with little tendrils of curl snaking down here and there, framing her face. 

Stunning. Just stunning. 

But, more to the point, a young woman. All traces of his little girl were gone. 

Swallowing the golf ball that seemed to suddenly rise in his throat, Malcolm tried his best to smile. 

As their gaze locked, father to daughter, his eyes swam and filled against his will. 

She reached his side. 

"You look fucking perfect Darl...." He whispered, the words choked off by the rising emotion. 

Moving forwards to place a small kiss on the carefully rouged cheek, she gave him the widest, happiest smile. 

"I love you Dad....." Before he could react, her perfumed arms were around his neck, pulling him close. "......and I'm sorry." 

She held him tight for a few moments, captured. His own arms coming round to encircle her as he struggled valiantly with himself to hold the tears in check. 

"I love you too sweetheart." He responded into the soft shell of her ear. "And I'm sorry too." 

Drawing back, Malcolm made a show of coughing to hide his face, dragging a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his nose theatrically. 

"You two have a great evening." 

No one was fooled for a moment, as he sniffed loudly and cleared his throat, regaining his outer calm. 

"We will, Dad." 

Nat held his arm out for her to take in the most gentlemanly fashion. 

"Ready?" 

Her eyes shone as she beamed up at her date. 

Malcolm turned to Nat just as they made to leave, tugging his sleeve. 

"And you....." he growled with mock severity, "......you look after my girl. You hear? Or I'll fucking hunt you down and make a haggis from your entrails." 

"Yes _Sir!_ " Came the nervous reply. 

With their arms around each other, standing in the front porch, Malcolm and Sam watched as the car drove away. 

"Well, thank you Robbie." Malcolm breathed. "And if she ever finds out, we're both toast!"

fin 


End file.
